Bad Vibes
My copy of Bad Vibes, Luke Haines’ autobiography has been read twice. Two readings is actually quite restrained. Given I have wanted to read some form of Haines’ biography for more than a decade, it would be easy to repeatedly gorge on his words.
Bad Vibes is never less than honest, never less than hilarious. The prologue is entitled: Is it ever right to strike a dwarf? From that line on, laughter is often the only response to the ridiculousness and terror Haines saddles to the stuttering trajectory of his career.
As you might expect from someone whose songs have chronicled everything from English cant and Euroterrorism to unsolved child murders, Bad Vibes does not offer cosy reading. Subtitled Britpop and my part in its downfall, it delivers a caustic perspective on the nineties British music scene. It is razorblade writing and few escape getting cut, least of all Haines.
It is devastating survey of the period. Where appropriate there is grudging respect for his contemporaries. Genuine songwriting ability is always acknowledged. Jarvis Cocker and Pulp are relatively free from attack. However, perishing insults abound.
Suede are ‘baked beans and sulphate’. Matt Johnson ‘a dim bully’. The David and Victoria Beckham of Britpop – Damon Albarn and Justine Frischmann – are a 'gruesome couple … greedy hobgoblins’. Best of all, Oasis are accurately labelled ‘derivative northern boors’. Never a truer word said, except when Haines admits that at times he is acting like a ‘fully fledged cunt’.
What Haines provides alongside such insightful wit, is the truth of the time. Truth despite the fact it is at best uncomfortable and unflattering. There is no easy retreat into hindsight. This means he also records himself as capable of brutal stabs of spite and staggering explosions of stupidity.
The voices in his head which help lead him to shatter his legs. The bad acid he takes which convinces him he is Matthew Hopkins, the Witchfinder General, being pursued by a violent peasant mob led by Kula Shaker. Surprisingly insane incidents such as these appear to be the least of Luke Haines problems.
Between 1991-1997, Haines was his own worst enemy. Young, beyond talented and a prize arsehole. His ramshackle approach to drink and drugs regular saw him in casualty or busted by foreign cops. He short circuits chance after chance for careerism and greater success. Despite this, he creates arguably some of the best music of the time.
You could look at the book as a musical horror story. Haines occasionally manages to be the antihero. More often he is the monster at its core. You read page after page worrying for the safety of Alice Readman, his then girlfriend and bassist in his band The Auteurs.
The device of capturing the state of the charts during the period of the chapter is a nice touch. It reminds us whatever insanity Haines inflicts on his life, nothing beats the shameful spectacle of Jimmy Nail being number one in the charts. Nothing is ever quite as awful as Robson and Jerome.
Bad Vibes is a glorious ride. Its only failing are a spluttering out end and the fact it is not labelled Volume One. You read it and quickly divorce any sense of Haines as the grotesque person he once was from the perfection he has achieved in his work. His genius will outlive the stories in this book; his genius will outlive any personal fuckwittery. We can only hope that if any of us wrote an autobiography, we could say the same.
Bad Vibes is never less than honest, never less than hilarious. The prologue is entitled: Is it ever right to strike a dwarf? From that line on, laughter is often the only response to the ridiculousness and terror Haines saddles to the stuttering trajectory of his career.
As you might expect from someone whose songs have chronicled everything from English cant and Euroterrorism to unsolved child murders, Bad Vibes does not offer cosy reading. Subtitled Britpop and my part in its downfall, it delivers a caustic perspective on the nineties British music scene. It is razorblade writing and few escape getting cut, least of all Haines.
It is devastating survey of the period. Where appropriate there is grudging respect for his contemporaries. Genuine songwriting ability is always acknowledged. Jarvis Cocker and Pulp are relatively free from attack. However, perishing insults abound.
Suede are ‘baked beans and sulphate’. Matt Johnson ‘a dim bully’. The David and Victoria Beckham of Britpop – Damon Albarn and Justine Frischmann – are a 'gruesome couple … greedy hobgoblins’. Best of all, Oasis are accurately labelled ‘derivative northern boors’. Never a truer word said, except when Haines admits that at times he is acting like a ‘fully fledged cunt’.
What Haines provides alongside such insightful wit, is the truth of the time. Truth despite the fact it is at best uncomfortable and unflattering. There is no easy retreat into hindsight. This means he also records himself as capable of brutal stabs of spite and staggering explosions of stupidity.
The voices in his head which help lead him to shatter his legs. The bad acid he takes which convinces him he is Matthew Hopkins, the Witchfinder General, being pursued by a violent peasant mob led by Kula Shaker. Surprisingly insane incidents such as these appear to be the least of Luke Haines problems.
Between 1991-1997, Haines was his own worst enemy. Young, beyond talented and a prize arsehole. His ramshackle approach to drink and drugs regular saw him in casualty or busted by foreign cops. He short circuits chance after chance for careerism and greater success. Despite this, he creates arguably some of the best music of the time.
You could look at the book as a musical horror story. Haines occasionally manages to be the antihero. More often he is the monster at its core. You read page after page worrying for the safety of Alice Readman, his then girlfriend and bassist in his band The Auteurs.
The device of capturing the state of the charts during the period of the chapter is a nice touch. It reminds us whatever insanity Haines inflicts on his life, nothing beats the shameful spectacle of Jimmy Nail being number one in the charts. Nothing is ever quite as awful as Robson and Jerome.
Bad Vibes is a glorious ride. Its only failing are a spluttering out end and the fact it is not labelled Volume One. You read it and quickly divorce any sense of Haines as the grotesque person he once was from the perfection he has achieved in his work. His genius will outlive the stories in this book; his genius will outlive any personal fuckwittery. We can only hope that if any of us wrote an autobiography, we could say the same.
Labels: Bad Vibes, Blur, Britpop, Jarvis Cocker, Luke Haines, Suede, The Auteurs, Witchfinder General
posted by David at
10:25 PM
12 Comments:
Sounds interesting!
I do love a good book review. You have sold me on the notion of reading Haines' story, although your review has me a little "skeered" to do so. Now, to locate a copy...
That sounds like a good read..
I read Scar Tissue recently, by Anthony Keidis from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and that was likewise full of honest confession, and spectacular anti-hero stunts of abuse and shameful actions, but written with such self-understanding and self-deprecating humour, I couldn't put it down for a second.
The Truth is never easy. It cuts off all the baggage with a scalpel sometimes, but that's the kindest way, ultimately. Anything else is enabling the ego-addict self to continue on, hindered by a life of unlove.
I need a good and different read ...will find it online hopefully.
I take it you were at the book reading event on Tuesday?
The Q&A was a little short for my liking. I also wanted to find out the inspiration behind certain songs, but the questions were geared towards the 'light' end of the spectrum.
It was also rather sad that the aforementioned Alice has been rendered uncontactable. I suppose spending all the years with Luke took their toll.
I did find this, though: a copy of his guest slot as music reviewer on Select Magazine that some guy asked a question about.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/31114271@N00/3202875592/sizes/l/
I was there. The man in the eyepatch who asked the last question and everyone laughed at when Andrew Mueller made his crack…
It was too short (according to the recording I made of the event it came in at little more than 50 minutes), but one or two of the answers were illuminating and the acoustic set was good.
His comments on Alice were quite moving and explained much of her treatment in Bad Vibes. I now imagine post Luke Haines and his heavy toll that she has renounced the world and lives as Buddhist nun.
For the sake of Tuppence and everyone else, why don’t you post that 20,000 words of aborted biography you wrote on Haines? It had a fair bit of gear about the stories behind the songs if I remember right. Will you be doing a gig review? What was you question?
Ha! Yes. One of the more memorable members of the audience, I must say. I was lucky enough to get a seat (and went with my mum of all people who thinks he's a genius after I accidentally left 'Das Kapital' at her house).
I also belatedly discover you're a respected author, having paid attention to the subtitle of your blog. I say this having seen you on both Amazon and Wikipedia - the two places one appears when you become respected, obviously.
But it does seem a shame to have "20,000 words of aborted biography" knocking about if it's true.
Kid Atari – I have written a review. Whether I think it is worth posting is another matter.
Tuppence – Your mother has taste. He is a genius.
While a seat at the front might have been nice, I did have the advantage of standing next to Moore and Nixey.
I am not sure what made me a memorable member of the audience (surely an eyepatch is not that egregious) and I do not think anyone ever refers to me as a ‘respected author’ unless they are a member of the green crayon brigade.
It is true that I once started work on an unofficial biography of Luke Haines. I originally intended to privately publish it in limited edition of 100 copies. However, after a few months of research and 20,000 or so words, I abandoned the project.
This was in large part due to the fact I was in a nightmarish relationship and partly due to the fact that without any co-operation from the subject, the book was turning into a strange meditation on not only Luke Haines, but the subject matter of his songs. There might be 100 people who would want a copy of an unofficial biography of Haines, but I doubted anyone other than me would want to read my speculation on the culture, politics, landscape and 1970s terrorism which might have shaped the subject matter of his output.
I believe the person I was having the nightmarish relationship with binned the original manuscript. A couple of photocopies were in circulation amongst friends at one point, but I am afraid I do not have a copy myself. Bizarrely, I did notice that one of the surviving copies went for a frankly ridiculous amount on eBay two years ago. At £132 for my view on Luke Haines, I think they were robbed.
You must admit, "You with the eyepatch" has a certain mythology to it.
As patch jibes go, it was tame and at least avoided the frayed pirate territory. I would love to think the eyepatch was giving me that hint of Nick Fury mythology, but it is clearly not working out that way. Oh well, at least I am told it is ‘sexy in the bedroom’.
> ‘sexy in the bedroom’
What more do you want, man!
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